The Complexity of Coffee
by ratchetblack
Summary: Mort discovers the major annoyances of ordering coffee.


Mort tripped over the threshold of the coffee shop early one morning and almost crashed against the counter. He shook his head to clear it and steadied himself before turning to face the cashier at the register.

"Coffee, please," he said. The girl was quite a bit younger than he was, noticed Mort. Must be another one of those annoying high school kids with a part-time job. The employees seemed to get younger every year, he reflected. Or maybe he was just getting older.

"Just plain coffee, sir? Not a cappuccino or an espresso?" she asked.

Mort shook his head. "Just coffee, thank you," he said politely.

"Not a mocha blend or a coffee-chocolate ice cream shake--"

"_Just coffee, thank you_," repeated Mort a bit less politely, meanwhile wondering how the hell coffee and ice cream could mix to create something edible. Coffee had to be _hot_, damn it.

"Would you like our specialty house brew, the Brazilian roasted brew, the Mexican slow-roasted brew, or the Puerto Rican decaf roast?" she asked with a smile, as if she hadn't noticed Mort's tone. Entirely too perky, he thought with some distaste, especially this early in the morning. Excessive perkiness before noon ought to be outlawed.

"House brew," he replied, "medium, please." How did one's taste buds determine where a coffee brew had been grown, anyway? And what was the point of decaf coffee? The cashier tapped a few keys before turning to face him again.

"Would you like that with milk, sugar, cream, half-and-half, non-dairy creamer, or any other condiment with your coffee?"

Mort could only gape in blinking disbelief. Surely coffee wasn't that difficult to handle? He requested a packet of cream and was getting out his wallet when the girl suddenly asked if he wanted to add a small amount to his purchase as a donation to the local children's fund, and did he want his coffee in a special-edition holographic refillable plastic travel mug for only $1.99 more?

"No and no," Mort said with gritted teeth, trying to keep his patience. This wasn't going anywhere. He'd just ordered a coffee with cream, and he wanted it _NOW_, damn it! To hell with the kids' fund and to hell with the mug! He'd drink it off the floor if they'd let him! Well, maybe not the floor, seeing as how everyone's _shoes_ had been all over it... but the sentiment was still there. Give me the coffee now and no one gets hurt, thought Mort savagely, breaking into a false, toothy grin that wasn't entirely friendly.

"Would you like a scone or a bagel with..." said the girl, trailing off as she finally noticed Mort's expression. "No then." Psycho customers were best left to their own devices. She rang up his purchase and left-- with a nervous backwards glance-- to get the coffee.

Mort growled under his breath and leaned against the counter, silently cursing his decision to leave his house to get coffee. He could've sat back and had a can of cold Mountain Dew to get his proper caffeine fix, but oh no, he suddenly had a craving for hot coffee and just _had_ to have some. Idiot.

Another cashier, a young man, walked up to the register and somehow didn't pick up on Mort's twitching eyebrow.

"Hello, sir! Would you like to buy a Frequent Coffee Drinkers card? For the price of only--"

"AARGH NO! I don't _want_ any of your damn extras! What is it about the phrase "I want my coffee" that you idiot kids don't understand! Coffee! Just coffee! With cream!"

"..." The boy stared for a moment as Mort panted angrily. The entire shop was now deathly silent, save for the sound of Mort's heavy breathing. The customers were fixated on the tableau at the front, some patrons shaking their heads in self-righteous annoyance. Mort heaved one final sigh and managed to collect himself.

"You know what? Forget the damn coffee. I'm going home..." And he left the shop, coffee-deprived and grumpier than he'd been earlier. Damn idiot kids.

* * *

_Later that morning..._

Sandy tapped her fingers against the register. The morning coffee rush was over, so the shop would be pretty much empty until lunchtime. Somebody had to man the stations, so to speak, just in case a stray customer came in for a late breakfast. This was Sandy's job. Pretty boring, she thought with a sigh, and she picked up a washcloth to wipe bagel crumbs off the nearest table.

Working at a coffee shop wasn't all that great-- although that bit of excitement this morning with the blond man and Tim had been rather funny. Tim had been pacing the kitchen afterwards, trying to explain to anyone who would listen that he'd only offered the man a Frequent Coffee Drinkers card and hadn't known Rachel had already given him a hard time.

Well, thought Sandy, if somebody had asked _me_ so many questions so early in the morning, I'd probably spaz at him, too.

Sandy snapped out of her daydreaming when the bell above the door jingled. So there _was_ a customer. Wait a minute... wasn't this the blond guy? Except this time he had on a black, wide-brimmed hat over his messy hair. Sandy smiled to herself. Maybe he was trying to disguise himself... how quaint.

"Medium house brew with cream, huh?" she asked, remembering what he'd attempted to order earlier that morning.

The man looked strangely at her for a moment, then relaxed into an expression of gratitude. "Yes, that's right..." he said quietly. Maybe he was surprised she'd remembered him. Was it just Sandy, or did he have a different accent now than what he had before? More country-ish than local, she thought, and much more calm. Sandy turned around and got the coffee quickly.

"Here you are, sir, that'll be $3.78." The man already had his money ready. After paying, the man stayed at the counter long enough to empty the packet of cream into his coffee, stir it in, and take a sip. Sandy hid a giggle at his supremely content expression.

"Thanks, missus," he said, and tipped his hat at her. How polite! So this is what people might be like if we didn't cross-examine them before every purchase, thought Sandy.

"Enjoy your coffee, sir, and have a nice day," she said as he walked out the door. The man stood outside the shop and waved back at her.

Sandy went back to work with a cheery smile on her face.

Shooter grinned into his coffee-with-cream. Kids these days were _so_ nice.


End file.
